


Unapologetically Yours

by BNana



Series: NCT Dream One Shots [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Letters, Marking, Mutual Pining, Pen Pals, Pet Names, Rated Teen for language and One (1) Hickey, Reader is a Foreigner and University Student, boys.... we are Yearning. we are Pining., destination fluff city choo choo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25320496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BNana/pseuds/BNana
Summary: It was by the fifth letter that Haechan knew he was truly fucked. He never realized how slowly but surely such feelings could creep up, even if they were feelings for someone he has never met.alternatively - Lee Donghyuck falls in love with all of the fan letters you are unable to deliver yourself at fan signs and Mark promises to find a way to fix his love-stricken friend
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Reader
Series: NCT Dream One Shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826464
Kudos: 33





	Unapologetically Yours

It was by the fifth letter that Haechan knew he was truly fucked. 

The confusing part was that, in hindsight, he wasn't sure what specific part it was specifically that led him to this realization.

Emotionally, it was like falling into a slow but steady haze from giddiness and absolute adoration- something that initially had come a close second to his affection towards his best friends/roommates/members but subconsciously began to overwhelm even that. He didn't fawn over Mark's squishy ears or whine for Doyoung to cook his favorite meal or aggressively cheer on Johnny or Jungwoo's noticeably dumb ideas- well, he may do some of these things, but not nearly to the same extent as before.

After a group trip on their day-off that involved him reviewing various terms of endearment down the length of his coffee shop napkin, some of the others began to notice as well. 

Initially, Jaemin was jealous when reviewing the gifts and notes after each event, joking about how Haechan somehow could capture people in such a natural way despite their collective use of insufferable aegyo (they really were the worst offenders and were hypocritical towards each other). 

Usually, in the case that Taeil or Mark sat next to him during fan events, they would cast a side-eye each time a fan slid a letter forward, but eventually, even they could pick up on the specific stationary or the cute sealing stickers that you regularly used. On some occasions, when you would include a scratch-n-sniff sticker or dried flower petals, everything came together sealed in an envelope instead of a delicately folded piece of paper.

One time, Johnny had given a light pat to Haechan's thigh under the table when your letter arrived from the second to last fan in the venue. Haechan hadn't even realized that he might have been holding his breath throughout the entire event, fearing that any form of news from you may not come.

Unfortunately for Haechan, by the time any of your friends could deliver the notes to him, they now only smelled like the plastic of organizational folders and perhaps, on a rare occasion, very faintly like what he could only pick up as something vaguely metallic.

The scents themselves were quite processed and crisp, but eventually they only evoked a cute image of you writing drafts and keeping them locked together in a small box for safekeeping before they could be delivered. He would have never admitted to anyone that smelling them had become an interesting past-time, feeling like a detective or, at the very least, a very inexperienced hunting dog, in an attempt to learn more about you.

The letters became something to look forward to in the midst of stressful but exciting promotions, so on the rare chance none of your fan club friends were present and he (figuratively and literally) walked away empty-handed, he wished there was a safe way to respond. Internally, Haechan knew that it would be discouraged and certainly the managers would never facilitate anything. Despite this, each time, he cursed your luck and the company's arbitrary ticketing system for your lack of attendance across any of the various fan events they held for NCT.

At one point, there was a rumor that one of your friends had mentioned to Jaehyun: you had previously attended a hi-touch event during one of NCT U's releases, but the overwhelming sea of faces usually blended together; Haechan had no physical description, so there was no way to confirm it now. Certainly, you would have said something to him if he had been there? 

Later on, in a letter, you lamented the competitiveness of NCT Dream fan events, though Haechan was sure the rest of the Dreamies would jump on a chance for a more personal meet-up, especially if they were as aware of the situation. Of course, they weren't aware and Haechan intently knew this would never happen.

Still, it was something about that inherent youthful excitement of a new situation, of any number of possibilities, and more specifically the potential for all six of them to embarrass themselves significantly (Haechan would never admit it, but being an entertainer at a young age led to most of the Dreamies being a bit socially stunted). That letter had given him a good laugh to offset the melancholy, with how you detailed Haechan would always be your favorite but Jaemin was a close second and you were curious if he was as attentive at fan-signs as everyone said.

It would be a cold day in hell before Haechan would allow Jaemin any form of hint that his most dedicated (and secretly favorite) fan could potentially be stolen away.

In a way that most intimate things exist, close but hidden, it didn't take long for him to secretly keep the napkin of nicknames folded delicately in the deepest pocket of his wallet, having since added his own small drawing of a curly sun in the corner. His personal favorites had been connotated by a star: darling, honey, my world. The latter felt thematically appropriate with his own nickname. Somehow, it made him feel more connected, as if you could be a pair and nobody would think of you without thinking of Haechan as well.

Of course, he religiously kept everything you gifted him, but made special care to not hang them up or keep them anywhere separate from other fan gifts. On one end, he wasn't actively trying to be biased towards your notes- he appreciated everything from each one of their fans. On the other hand, it removed any potentially dangerous situation of explaining to snooping managers or even other less astute members why he had several letters, all with very carefully curated, personal content.

Each night, a proper yet casual 'escape plan' in cases these situations did arise replaced any lullaby, reciting reasons and excuses that could bail him out of any trouble or, even worse, emotional vulnerability. Regardless, after several months, he couldn't help but set aside a thin manila folder with his absolute favorites to hide underneath his desk.

All in all, Haechan didn't know much about calligraphy, but even he could tell the way you delicately expressed each line and curve, the amount of care and love put into each word. It wasn't right, because he was the smooth one and he had read fan letters before and nothing had phased him as hard as the opening line to your first note: "The sun is the brightest star we can see and it gives the whole planet life, just like you!"

He had choked, absolutely and completely, sparking the attention of Taeyong and a staff member who rushed to grab him water. Several excuses were made, and he had immediately (but carefully) cast the paper to the side to avoid suspicion or- even worse, anyone else's prying eyes. The fluorescent lights of their waiting room during the second to last music show performance could do nothing to dull or tire the fresh, excited spark in his eyes.

In the end, although several of the other members recognized your letters, he never, EVER let anyone actually read them. The initial shock was only coupled with the fact that each letter after that had, at the top, been addressed to "Mr. Lee Haechan" and then, in a smaller script next to it, "unless you prefer Donghyuck but I think both are nice".

The content wavered from support in their new promotion to little doodles of game characters or NCT members. His favorite was the way you drew Doyoung, with a long, triangular face and pouting lips and a speech bubble nagging about something. Part of him did want to show his hyung- to tease him, predominantly, but somewhere subconsciously Haechan thought it would be a good start if he was ever able to introduce Doyoung to you in the future. 

Usually, the drawings had personalized ones for him as well, representing variety show appearances or pointing out highlights from a nice outfit his stylist used or, another favorite: a crude rendition of him doing archery during the idol olympics. Your favorite look was light-tone jeans with ankle boots, and he did not shy away from vocally recommending this to any stylist he came across.

Most of the letters included a song recommendation and a fun fact at the bottom. At one point, you attached a Polaroid-style picture (the only thing he ever put on display in his room) that you had taken of Haechan the Pudu while visiting California, claiming in the letter that you were going to take a selfie but it felt kind of awkward. The bottom of the picture read "From Haechan to Haechan" in Korean, with a mistake scribbled out and re-written.

Later on, you would draw out seemingly imprecise maps of the neighborhood you grew up in and the floorplan of the building you had the most classes in or a layout for your ideal house, which always featured a garden and studio space (Haechan secretly wondered if the studio was meant for him).

There were other things, sometimes more surprising than intimate, like recommendations for sore throat teas and suggestions for shows to watch when he was injured and diagrams for how to restitch something if he had a wardrobe malfunction backstage. Most of what you wrote and drew was slightly odd and innocent, but most of all charming.

The best one he kept in a plastic sheet protector: you mapped out the galaxy, with labels for your favorite planets and moons, as well as a separate sheet detailing when and where they would be visible soon. Haechan really wished, given how much you talked about it, that you could take him back to your hometown, where every minuscule celestial body visibly swept through the night sky, a speckled black canvas.

In that drawing of the galaxy, what really made it, was the small cartoon drawing of his face instead of the sun. The small writing beneath it, in English, said "cosmic body more like cosmic hottie"; he eventually had to ask Mark about it because curiosity was eating him alive and he couldn't find an accurate translation online. The result was predominantly awkward laughter between both of them and a silent promise for Mark to never bring it up to anyone; he absolutely couldn't believe how cute and cheesy it was. Internally, Haechan's heart flip-flopped and his breath caught in his throat and he promised to himself that he would memorize every cosmic body if it made you a fraction as excited as he had been in that singular moment.

It wasn't until the third letter that you had remembered to sign off with your name, still faceless but no longer a vague statistic-like recognition. Haechan actually had to dig out old folders where he kept some notes from fans, combing through each one until he recognized your handwriting. It felt so hesitant and intimate for him to just sit in bed and think about your name over and over, sometimes fearing he may begin calling it in his sleep.

Soon after, he found out that you were older, but only slightly, and joked to himself that maybe he should add 'noona' to his napkin list. You began writing when you still lived abroad; they originally had more wear and tear from the physical overseas mailing process, and the content of the first two letters was very slim compared to the ones following. Part of this connected to the conscious way you wrote each character, fearing the legibility even more than small spelling and grammatical mistakes in a new language.

The only thing worse than him never receiving your letters was if he was unable to actually read them, and this lead to hours and hours deliberating and contemplating what slang an idol in his early 20s would actually know. The sentences were straightforward, simple, and honest - everything that made Haechan able to sense your intent.

In that third letter, you admitted that, once you moved, you found many friends willing to help you, both in writing and delivering; his heart swelled by imagining how kind you must have been to have others so readily willing to do so. That, as he also realized later, meant that your friends were very aware of how much he meant to you.

This realization came from careful study- how you never babied him or truly idolized him, how you didn't obsess with his looks or his talents but instead just wanted to know what he was thinking and how he felt. From his core, the only thing that made sense to Haechan was that you wanted to understand him. You valued him as a person, separate from his public persona, and you still found value there.

Haechan started having dreams eventually, probably two years into your messages; they were always so fluid and hazy because all his brain could do is propose you as a silhouette. Haechan imagined what it was like to live with someone who cared so deeply about him and life and everything precious in the world- what it would be like to be away from his family and managers and other members, just to have a moment's peace and not have expectations. He was thankful for his life, of course- he loved singing and performing, but sometimes even someone so energetic got tired as well.

Usually, it was a small apartment, a simple set-up with a window just wide enough to let in the setting sun and stain his skin even more golden and glowing. He would bask in the gentle breeze, warm and content, and you would call him from the other room, voice clear and bright and mingling beautifully with the soft sound of wind chimes hung on someone else's balcony. Every time, it was different: honey, sweetheart, babe, darling, Hyuckie. Every time, he thought he picked a favorite but they all were so wonderful that more often than not, it didn't matter which.

He could never see you, but he could feel you as you folded your feet under your knees to sit behind him and peacefully set your head against his back, feeling his warmth and hearing the increasing thump of his heartbeat.

Then he would close his eyes and try to inhale a deep breath before turning to hold you- and he would always wake up, at that same point.

You asked tons of questions in your letters. Of course, at events like fan signs, people would want to know what music he had been listening to or what his favorite dessert was or potential hints to upcoming schedules. The difference, and he cursed your seemingly innocent stupidity, was from the fact that he had no way to answer.

He wanted to tell you what he did when he couldn't fall asleep or the first video game he bought with his own money. He wanted to hear you ask those questions with your voice- he couldn't imagine it as anything except for soothing, and he wanted to ask you the same questions back. There were recipes he could share and restaurants to recommend, aspects of Korean culture he could teach you, small things that became more and more and more until he didn't know what to do with all this information.

In the depths of his heart, the most important thing Haechan could wish for was a way to encourage you to keep writing to him. He wished that you would never get bored of him, never get too busy for him, never forget about him. And he didn't feel bad and he didn't feel selfish.

Eventually, he started writing his answers down, fuming and circling back on this frustration again and again until it turned to a passionate longing for something he never had in the first place. He never would have pegged himself as a tortured soul before this. 

They weren't the same as your letters, more so just a rushed mishmash of personal trivia listed down and sideways along a loose sheet of paper ripped from a small notebook. Haechan would sit at his desk in the dorm, closed off to the world for an hour or two, before he could finally breathe. Soon after, this feverish writing turned into poetry and lyrics and he would find himself late at night, rather than playing games or lying absentmindedly in bed, huddled in a corner room at their company building.

With knees tightly pulled up to his chest on the piano bench and his head almost hazy, he could tap small tunes out, humming along to the notes, and thinking about what made you so enamored with him. What was it that made him so special, or, perhaps, so normal? He, at the very least, had some form of an excuse when feeling this way.

This habit began some sort of manic ping-ponging of zealousness. As always, Haechan was still driven in his work and managed to push down the bubbling sense of dread, whether from the letters stopping or from anyone's feelings subsiding, he couldn't quite tell.

Half of the time, Haechan maintained his bubbly exterior and, in his personal time, was over the moon when re-reading your sweet words and imagining how cute you might look (not that it was a priority). That internalized desire, however, sparked a side of loneliness, a need for the give and take of affection that was not being fulfilled. Almost constantly now, Haechan began wracking his brain for the best thing to say to you, if he ever got the opportunity to.

It didn't take long until Jaehyun noticed the later nights, Haechan no longer returning red-faced and wearing exercise-friendly clothes but instead with dark rings under his eyes and mussed up hair and an almost vacant expression. The first time, Jaehyun had laughed lightly and asked if Haechan fell asleep on the floor of their practice room.

He had to clarify later, no, he wasn't sick, at least not physically.

On the third recurrence, Jaehyun mentioned it to Mark, which led the younger to loiter around the SM building a few nights a week until he could walk back to the staff car with Haechan, hand pressed to his back reassuringly. If Mark hadn't known any better, he would have guessed it was heartbreak, that was all that made sense anymore.

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Another late night on a wooden floor of listening to ballads and being curled up around a notebook on the floor, Mark finally intervened. Their manager had stepped out for some time, leaving the two alone until they sent out the call to go home. In truth, the timing was probably as perfect as it could get. However, Mark didn't know what else to do and he couldn't tell exactly how his friend was feeling and he just wanted it to stop.

With a gentle tap of his foot, Mark began to slide the notebook away from Haechan's grasp. Immediately, Haechan curled into himself to hide the contents and sat up slightly, removing a bud from his ear. "Why are you still here?" He asked with a yawn, as if he hadn't noticed Mark's presence at all; still, the reaction was not intently sour but certainly not happy to be disturbed.

Awkwardly, Mark shoved his hands into his jean pockets and stretched his neck as an excuse to not directly look down. In the past few times Mark had killed time waiting for Haechan, they never directly interacted like this, so part of him feared upsetting his junior even more.

"I was doing some work, writing a little. Same as you, from what I can see." He sniffed slightly, patting the pads of his fingers against his thighs absentmindedly. Haechan gave a slightly withered expression and pursed his lips teasingly.

"Hmmm," he smacked his lips together in an exaggerated, joking manner and sat up to a cross-legged position, "I might be wrong, but you can do that at home, can't you? Unless it's something personal that you're hiding from the hyungs, like not for work-" Haechan paused, holding his empty hand up to cover his mouth and continued in a hushed tone, as if someone were listening. "Don't tell me, Mark, could it be a love letter?"

At this point, Mark, with an unaffected, stern expression, directly connected eyes with his groupmate. "Are you trying to deflect right now? Is that what this is about?" Out of view, Haechan's hand twitched slightly and the grip of his pen tightened. Rather than respond, Haechan snapped his head away, gathering up his things quickly with a fake-lighthearted chuckle. Mark brought his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in a rare moment of legitimate exasperation.

"I don't know what on Earth you mean," he mused, distinctly nervous but trying not to show it. As Haechan moved to pass by, anything to avoid having to acknowledge it, Mark side-stepped in front of him and retrieved the folded napkin from his own front pocket. The pen now fell from Haechan's hand as he darted forward to grab the worn material, already acutely aware of what this was and what it meant.

At this point, from fear and anxiety, Haechan would rather rip it up than allow Mark to hold onto it, despite the fact that, in the back of his brain, he was assured that his elder had already read it. Mark, expecting such a reaction, tilted his shoulder back in time with Haechan's lunge. The sudden, defensive movement read as desperate and, frankly, a bit depressing, from Mark's perspective.

"Dude, oh my god," Mark started, grunting slightly as Haechan scrambled against him. "Come on, stop, hold on." With his free arm, he held against Haechan's shoulders and they both squabbled briefly before Haechan huffed and took a step back. As far as physical affinity, they were more or less equal, but Mark originally had a slight size advantage and Haechan had been more sleep-deprived than normal lately.

"So, ok, fine." He grumbled, retrieving the notebook from his backpack in defeat. In a swift motion, he held out the pages and flipped through it, giving a preview to all of the internalized struggles and expressions that Haechan couldn't quite get out. "Yeah! Maybe it's about the letters!" His voice was raised, frustrated and exasperated but most of all tired. Mark's arm slowly lowered, reaching instead with his empty hand to give a hesitant pat to the younger's head.

"Hey," he murmured softly, bringing down the hand with the napkin and holding it out. "Look, seriously, I'm not trying to make fun of you. It just, it just fell out of your wallet yesterday." He motioned with the napkin again, trying to push it into Haechan's chest. "And yeah, I read it. I mean, I wasn't exactly sure what it was at first, but I know your handwriting well enough so-" Mark caught himself rambling. "Look," he sighed, "I read it, it's personal. I'm sorry, ok?" He waited, still holding out this stupid scrap of trash that made Haechan feel so sensitive and put on display.

Finally, after a moment of hesitation, Haechan bitterly snatched it out of his hands. Mark gave a deep inhale and exhale- this really wasn't his wheelhouse but at this point, he felt like the only one who could do anything about it. "If anything, you should be thankful it was me who found it. This is a mess, you know that, right? You're really getting yourself into a mess."

"Yeah," he huffed, fingers fiddling against the familiar texture, "you got that right. Don't worry, it's not like I'm not aware." Haechan gingerly smoothed out the creases on the napkin and returned it to the original place in his wallet, making a mental note to attach it with a paperclip or something next time. There was no way he could allow a repeat of this situation, especially with someone less modest than Mark. Now deflated, the anger and embarrassment simmering just beneath his skin beginning to settle. 

With a grimace, Mark shuffled his feet awkwardly. He wished he was more capable of being able to read people. "I-, look, I'm serious, I'm sorry, it was an invasion of privacy and stuff, I know you're super paranoid about it." With a few passing moments of awkward silence, Mark wondered if he should just abandon any attempts at consoling or problem-solving or whatever it was he was supposed to be doing as a friend and co-worker.

"It's ok. I know you didn't mean to, like, encroach on my privacy," Haechan reached to the corner of his eye, not crying but trying to occupy his hands in a similarly uncomfortable manner, "I know that. I appreciate that you returned the paper. You don't have to apologize." He let out a stifled, frustrated groan, spinning around. "It's my own fault for being so, so- ugh!"

The simmered emotion began to bubble up again and, for once, Haechan wished he could focus on practicing choreography instead so he can just clear his brain and run on auto-pilot. Instead, he balls up his fists and stomps on the floor, the act of a childish tantrum as his only solace. "I should have stopped. I should have stopped after the fourth one- no, I should have just stopped accepted fan letters. I _knew_ what was happening, slowly but surely, and I let it happen." Haechan, contorting his tension-filled body, raised his arms up and wanted to scream but couldn't, for fear that any number of late-night employees would rush to the scene. There was no chance for Haechan to be unapologetically upset, to lose his cool, and that internalized anxiety was steadily driving him insane.

Mark, still being very gentle, took Haechan's arm and led him to sit on the floor again. "It's ok," he whispered, unsure of what else to do. "Everything that happened has already happened."

"You're right." Haechan exhaled some of the stress out of him again. In reality, taking up some fresh, productive hobby, an outlet like yoga or something, would make sense. "But in the beginning, I could have just broken both of our hearts and we- _I_ wouldn't have to deal with all of this."

"Would you have regretted that?"

Haechan stopped himself. Somehow, that question never crossed his mind. "I... don't know," he replied slowly, uncertainty dripped out from his lips.

"And I guess you won't know." Mark pinched his nose up with a sniffle and looked at the floor with a more laid back tone. "So, seriously, there's no use in stressing over possibilities. What can you do about it now? Are you still willing to break your own heart? Or her's?"

Haechan winced at the mere suggestion. "No," he stated plainly, "no, I wouldn't... do that to her. I don't know if I would even be able to. Especially without her actually knowing what's going on. That's the worst part of all this, that we can't just... talk." He sighed again, still feeling frustrated but being able to express it with someone else did help- though he would never admit it to Mark.

Mark replied with a wry laugh, as if he was so age-wizened. "In a way, it would almost be easier if she was in the industry, right? You just make some phone calls and slip her your KakaoTalk during an album exchange." And then, of course, they would both get caught eventually, people overreacting and management threatening his job, just like it seemed to always go.

Whether Mark made this joke out of experience, Haechan honestly was unsure. Furthermore, he didn't know how to respond and the situation wasn't like that because he didn't even know what you looked like, just your name. Mark taps his foot against his friend lightly. "Tell me about her," he suggested, "if you're comfortable with that."

Haechan's head shot up, eyes wide. "I-" Mark held a hand up, once again signaling to take a breath. Haechan did so, cataloging in his brain all the information he knew about you.

Your name, just the first name. What you studied now and the school you attended, along with the fact that was so painfully close by. Haechan knew how much you loved nature and science and learning how things worked - how much you valued every little thing that made the world work.

He could recount almost exactly where you grew up, overseas, and certain cultural differences you missed, or ones you didn't. Of course, he even knew your favorite ice cream flavor and season and NCT song: Sun & Moon, partially because it made you think of him and partially because that was the first album you had bought (later, you also admitted to crying every time you listened to Knock On).

Behind Mark's request was months and months of affectionate gushing that he couldn't ever properly fit into words, to describe, because he didn't have anyone to talk about you to. So, he tells him all of that and everything else he could think of at that moment.

The entire time, Mark is silent, simply nodding and smiling softly every few facts. He recalled the astronomy drawing Haechan had asked him to translate and figured that, along with all the things Haechan knew about your personality, you were probably pretty goofy too. They suited each other, in Mark's eyes.

Finally, after several drawn-out minutes, Haechan stops. He realized he had run out of things to talk about, the well of your identity finally running dry, and he suddenly became incredibly self-conscious about Mark's focused eyes. "That's it, I think." He paused, licking his now dry lips.

"Maybe that means we don't really know each other. She's told me all of these things and I can't..." Haechan huffed out, childish and crestfallen. "I can't tell her anything in return. It's so frustrating. I just... don't know what to do."

Mark thought for a moment, and wonders how someone else might try to give advice or solve this problem (was it a problem?). "Then, is there something that I can do to help you? Is there something you want to do?" He asked, quite simply, very clearly trying to help.

Haechan realized, yes, there were tons of things that he had thought before but nothing that he had vocalized or tried. Having a second opinion could never hurt, especially if it was his best friend. He hesitated, though, and Mark noted this.

Haechan stretched out with the heels of his palms behind him as his head tilted to the fluorescent lights above. "I think so," he hummed, barely above a whisper the more he spoke, "I think I want to respond."

Mark nodded, slowly as if already planning it, and then gave a nervous grin to his friend beside him. "Ok," he said finally, matter-of-factly, and Mark circled his finger across the cover of Haechan's notebook. He hesitated when Haechan's head tilted down and he noted Mark's movements, but then they both smiled at each other.

"How the hell do I do it, though?" Haechan coughed out, nerves still bubbling up through his laugh, and he rolled the heels of his feet against the floor. Mark caught his eye, looked down at the notebook, as if asking permission.

Haechan, in defeat, inhaled slowly and deeply, pinching his shoulders up and finally let go- everything, this time, and gave a nod. It took about a minute or two for Mark to flip through some of the underlined, dotted, and otherwise highlighted sections towards the front. The entire time, Haechan closed his eyes and tried to imagine a world where he could just be Donghyuck and didn't have to worry about the fear and the hiding and the fame. In this situation, however, he also could not imagine a situation where he likely would have still met you.

Mark gave a hefty sigh. "This is... a lot, Hyuck." He hummed, scanning a few specific phrases, "I mean, I like it- I guess that's not the point but," Mark stopped himself, looking at his friend next to him, with closed eyes and the most serene expression he had seen in weeks. Slowly, Mark began reading out from a page.

_'I might as well be an ant within your kitchen, a fly on the wall, something to exist in your space but outside of your world. So small. So small. Is that how you see me? Is that what you think you are to me? Never to reach, never to touch._

_I see the way you refract through the stark sunlight of the evening, wishing I could give you that warmth. I call out to you but am drowned out by the loose midnight breeze that shakes distant wind chimes and slides through your bones. These, at least, can exist with you, cohabitating with your space and your senses. But not mine._

_Everything about you makes me lonely and left with want. Sometimes, I feel as if I have been freed from this but the freedom is not earned- it is not wanted, because it is without you. If I am a fly on your wall, you are the spider who has wound me up and left me alone.'_

With his opposite hand, he took the edge of the page to rotate, subconsciously turning his head slightly, to read some of the sideways text.

_'I would give up everything just to see you, if only to spend a day staring at your back. To know whether your hair slides down your shoulders or is tucked delicately behind an ear. To see how you lean and swivel from one hip to another when you idle. To realize what I am in your eyes, in your world, so separate from mine. If only my hands were a single droplet of water, trailing down from the top of your head to the curve of your spine. I would drown in you, if you let me.'_

After a moment of silence, Mark responded with a breathless laugh, then flipped to another section his finger had held the page for. His eyes trailed through the writing, focusing on the varying intensity of pen pressure and smudges and what even may be a tear stain or two. Mark, with his lips drawn in tightly, felt a stutter in his breathing as he recalled the way his friend had almost transformed in these past few months. Slowly, he placed the notebook, held open on a specific page, in front of Haechan. "If you want to commit, this stuff is a hell of a good start."

Haechan snorted, half embarrassed and half sarcastic. After a brief moment of daydream, he had finally recognized that Mark has been leafing through his most intimate thoughts expressed in words, as if shuffling through a filing cabinet that is the inside of his head.

And yet, Mark looked incredibly focused and almost excited, a tourist studying a map, making a plan. Mark turned back up, locking eyes with his best friend and gave the most honest smile Haechan has seen in this life. "We're gonna figure it out. In the end, it will be up to you, but I'll get you there." He then nodded slowly, reaching out to clasp Haechan's palm.

"I promise."

  
💞📬💞💟💞📬💞💟💞📬💞

Slowly but surely, it took a long time and some amount of convincing for the other members to recognize Haechan's honesty. He told Taeil first, of course, who only silently nodded. Yuta and Doyoung held concerned expressions, having only heard of everything all at once, but in the end, were incapable of saying no to Mark's notorious puppy eyes (also, Haechan promised to replace anyone in dorm cleaning responsibilities three days out of every week for the rest of his career).

From there, every fan event felt like a spy mission. Eventually, most of them were trained on your stationary and your stickers and even a few (mostly Doyoung and Mark) recognized some of your friends who came more often; most of them loved Mark, which made it easy for him to slip his own little notes back in the pages of their albums as a thank-you for being glorified couriers.

The amount of honesty and trust for them to diligently sneak Haechan's letters back to you (and not try to sell them or show them off on Twitter) was astounding and made him incredibly proud of their fans. Initially, the first two tries, he was heart-stoppingly nervous that something bad would happen and he would get found out by paparazzi or fired. Every single time, your friends and his fellow members had assured him with a knowing smile and brief words of encouragement.

After his conversation with Mark, there were some fleeting rumors, presumably stemming from SM's staff and certain overbearing news services, about Haechan's new passion for writing, how he always kept a notebook with him at all times. Predominantly, these were misdirected as the fact that he has taken up song-writing or helping the members and producers with new music. All in all, it wasn't inherently untrue, he really did want to take a more active role, but he was overwhelmingly thankful that nothing truly private had gotten out. 

Though the group had ironed out a system that worked, with just enough deviation to not be caught, there continued to be brief periods of radio silence in-between preparation for traveling and their next big comeback.

These periods made him feel like some old-time romantic whose lover (he would kick himself if he could to think of you with that word- lover, darling, soulmate) had gone to war or been lost at sea, left waiting alone and unsure. The times when he was out of Korea now made him even more achingly homesick than ever, especially after the first confirmation letter.

There were multiple pages, front and back; the first section was just, in very large writing, "Is this a prank? :(" with several cartoon stickers surrounding the edges of the page. Simultaneously, it made his heart sink and jump for joy. You went on to detail that you never expected something like that could happen or that things like these were exclusive to k-dramas or that it was kind of suspicious how accurate the signature was to his photocards- and then began asking your questions again.

"What if you get in trouble?" "Aren't you afraid someone will intercept the letters?" "Do the other members know?" "Did my friends pay you to do this?" Of course, the question that had stuck in his brain was one he wasn't sure he could answer, at least not yet: "Why me?"

Somehow, he had written that he initially responded because "your handwriting was nice and you had supported him for a long time", adding his signature to feel as streamlined and cookie-cutter as he was comfortable. By this point, certainly, you both knew it could never be as simple as that. There were plenty of other fans who had known any number of the NCT members since pre-debut. Haechan, especially, had been in the public eye for years. None of it made sense- from either end: from your perspective, you were just another fan of a celebrity, but all Haechan could see you as was some sort of mysterious blank page, despite the growing years of information gathered.

After the first, he discarded formal speech and instead responded directly to your questions from all the letters in the past. He told you all sorts of things, about his siblings and his parents, about celebrating holidays and what he did in elementary school. This expanded to what he cooked for late-night snacks or how he felt when he got accepted as a trainee; Haechan couldn't help but relay any and every stupid thing his members had told him that week, too.

In his writing, Haechan informed you that nearly every performance, in free time in-between music show recordings when the fuzziness of sleep hadn't quite worn off, he thinks about you- wondering if you have classes that day and what you ate for breakfast. When it rained, he found himself silently hoping you remembered an umbrella that morning. Secretly, he wonders what it would be like if you could be together and he could ask you about your day _every day_.

Any time he's on stage, he hopes that you're watching him. He asked if you showed off the letters you wrote or received, and talked about how Renjun was always curious of what you drew. Of course, Haechan never specified that he couldn't bring himself to share you with the rest of them no matter what, even after you have talked about how embarrassing it was to have people read what you wrote.

One time, after the first fan event of a new promotion, he sent back a good luck charm, telling you that he wished he could pull strings in the fan-sign lottery.

He wanted you to know everything about him, even though he wasn't always able to fully answer the more complicated questions you gave. All in all, he only manages to reply with about six letters, each one several pages with small drawings of the sun and flowers lining the edges.

💞📬💞💟💞📬💞💟💞📬💞

Several months later, the group ended up close by to your campus, shooting a special episode of a show. Haechan, quite notably that morning, willed away any opportunity to get his hopes up for a miracle.

Doyoung had waved Haechan over to a corner near their outdoor shoot during a brief break due to technical problems. Haechan, fully made up with hair swept back above his forehead as he waited to be re-styled before the next take, tried to convince himself that he felt particularly confident on this day. Whether this was true or not, he couldn't quite tell. "Hey, hey!" Haechan called, maintaining whatever odd and goofy mood he had been in since this morning.

Doyoung gave him a small smile and a pat on the head. "Do you have your notepaper with you?" He asked quickly, recognizing there was not much time for small talk.

Haechan pulled a confused expression. "I have some sticky notes in my backpack. Why, are you gonna leave passive-aggressive post-it notes for Taeyong again?" Haechan wandered over to a tented area where their personal belongings had been piled up under a table. One of the managers gave Haechan a passing glance until Doyoung followed over and gave a polite smile. 

Knocking his knuckle against Haechan on the shoulder, Doyoung spoke loud enough for the staff members to hear. "If you don't have any medicine, I'm sure I could ask Mark." Doyoung nodded to the side, where Mark was standing a few feet away. He gazed up, partially distracted, with the sound of his name.

Haechan paused, took his hand out from his bag, and swiveled back to face his hyung. In return, Doyoung gave a very pained-looking smile and an intense stare. Returning to his search, Haechan's hand ghosted over the top of his notebook just as the manager came over and told Doyoung that there were some painkillers and anxiety medicine in a stylist's bag if he needed them.

With another polite smile, Doyoung followed the manager, before giving one of his typical impatiently-stressed expressions, darting eyes between Mark and Haechan. It took a few seconds of confused looks exchanged between the younger two before Haechan quickly tore a sheet of paper and tucked it into his microphone band beneath his shirt when it seemed no one was looking. By itself, the action was innocent enough, but given the pre-existing weird atmosphere, Haechan certainly didn't want anyone asking any questions.

After a few moments of small talk to defuse any potential suspicion from their styling team, he then wandered back towards a corner of their shoot area, pretending to play a game on his phone. Once or twice, a stylist came over to quickly reapply spray into his hair or double-check where a button has been resewn this morning. Mark came behind him in-between these actions, nudging a pen into his hand. Haechan laughed for a few solid seconds, both to cover up the interaction and also from confusion at how serious Mark had been when he leaned down to quickly list off directions and a time.

Glancing from Haechan to the pen, Mark gave an exaggerated nod as Haechan slowly took out the sheet and rewrote the information down. "Can you remember that without the paper?" Mark asked him, seemingly both antsy and giddy. This wasn't necessarily unexpected behavior for Mark, but it still had Haechan second-guessing the intent.

Haechan snorted and responded with a curt nod - he had to memorize much more complicated things on the day-to-day, so this was nothing.

"Ok, great. Put your signature on it then." Mark informed him and impatiently waited. Just as Haechan touched the pen to the bottom of the page, Mark suddenly shouted and nearly caused him to drop the pen. "Wait- not your formal signature, your personal one. Y'know..."

Haechan hesitated, trying to imagine what Mark meant by that, but then slowly drew the crude drawing of a swirly sun. "Hm?" Haechan hummed simply, looking up at Mark for confirmation. In return, Mark gave a huge grin and nabbed the sheet out of Haechan's hands before running off.

Once about three hours had passed, the crew had called cut and were monitoring everything from the morning. As the filming had been split up, Haechan now wasn't needed for about an hour or so, and he was sent off with Johnny and Taeyong to have lunch. About halfway through, Taeyong sprung up and requested that the manager accompanying them to help take some pictures for social media. Johnny quickly filled in that he and Haechan were almost done eating and could return to the filming location on time. About two minutes after Taeyong and the manager left, Johnny grabbed Haechan's food and told him that he was going to be late.

He ran. He didn't know what else to do. None of the members had explained it properly but Haechan couldn't imagine what kind of elaborate prank it would even be. When he rounded a corner, well-manicured landscaping partially hidden by trees, outside the building they had been filming in, he felt as though his heart stopped.

You were turned away, staring absentmindedly at your phone and humming softly to yourself. There, pinned to the front of your backpack, was the small purple charm he had gifted to you. With nobody else around, Haechan sucked in a deep breath and called out.

"Uh, excuse me?" The briefest second after, he twitched his face in regret that those were his first words- stark and awkward.

Part of your brain processed it before you had fully turned around. Without even seeing him, his voice was unique- discernible enough to _know_ ; even so, plainly put, you were absolutely shocked. Hands drawn over your mouth, you darted back and forth before rushing forward. "I thought- I mean, I heard that I would be able to at least see you-" You were stammering in between languages, red-faced and embarrassed because he was here.

He was here, right in front of you. You had absolutely no idea how or why, but _he was here_.

In your hands is a crumpled piece of paper- the note that Mark had told him to write this morning. Haechan's brain connected the dots in a singular, swift motion. Mark, in whatever miracle, had gotten someone to pass the information along. Mark, somehow or another, had delivered on his promise and Haechan knew he would be paying for meals and washing dishes for the rest of his natural life but none of that mattered as much as experiencing this singular moment. 

His hair was tousled from running to make it on time and he was wide-eyed and holding back a lunatic's grin but your heart absolutely swelled. "I didn't think, when they said _see_ , I didn't-" You stamp your feet rhythmically against the concrete. "I mean, it's the first time I've skipped class because my friend said you guys were filming nearby." You gasp, breathless and giddy.

"[y/n]." It feels and sounds so good to come out of his mouth, for both of you. Haechan let out a soft breath, like he had been drowning at any point in his life before this. His eyes pass by and memorize every aspect of you, brain finally able to fill in the gaps for his dreams.

The difference was, in the past, you both had so much time to mull over every thought and word choice and even the way you wrote out each syllable. Taking delicate, loving time to consider what you wanted to say and how you wanted to say it. You never thought you would see the sun so close - you could barely dare yourself to look.

Everything seemed sped up by comparison, as you clench and unclench your fists by your sides, even fiddling with the strap hanging from your backpack. "Ah," you opened your mouth to speak, then both of you made eye contact and everything in your brain turned to mush.

He gives a small smile in return, nodding and prompting you to start again. Your eyes dart back at your feet. "Well, uh," you began, "I mean, are you supposed to be here? Is this ok?" You're turning around wildly but keeping your tone hushed. "Shit, I'm sorry. Is it weird to ask for your signature at this point?"

Beneath you, there was a shuffle against the concrete and his feet come into view mere inches from your own. "Don't apologize," he groans out, deeper than his regular voice and sounding more like a demand than a plea "I don't think I can handle it." Immediately, your head jumps up, just barely missing his chin with your skull as he reared back ever so slightly in shock.

The deer-in-headlights look, you suppose, was humorous, because he lets out a light, bubbly laugh. It's quite possibly the purest and most enrapturing noise you've ever heard and it's happening right in front of you.

Haechan brings a hand out towards yours, softly gripping your fist, as if to not frighten you again. His eyes trail to where a small chained bracelet, engraved with his name and birthday, hangs loosely off your wrist. He knows he doesn't have time for such sentimental motions, but he still finds his fingers absentmindedly trailing the metal links before returning to your hand.

For the first time in awhile, Haechan doesn't feel cold anymore, as if all of your care and energy are so easily shared with him. Your voice, accented and unconfident and not as smooth as he expected, still sounded better than his favorite song. He hums slightly, pondering your question. "I'll give a formal signature, but only if it's not weird if I exclusively refer to you as my muse." You make a complicated expression trying to recall the meaning of the specific word he used and, for a split second, his brain panics before you let out an unconfident chuckle.

"That's... kinda weird." You mumble, the thumb of your fist slowly relaxing to press hesitantly against the heel of his palm. "The word," you pause and he repeats it, enunciating the syllables for you. You mirror back his pronunciation twice before he gives a confirming nod.

Haechan clicks his tongue and reaches the hand not touching you to his back pocket. In a few moments of silence, he simply lets his hand hang there, outlining the fold of his wallet, which he thanks himself for keeping in his pockets in-between filming. Suddenly and uncharacteristically, Haechan is so incredibly unsure of everything he's done up until now. Eventually, he produces the scrap of paper, now significantly softened with time, and opens up the napkin to scan the words he had written on it more than a year ago.

"That's ok," he scans the writing, "if you don't like that one, I have a lot of ideas. If you want, I can run through them all and you can just tell me what you think makes the most sense."

You heave a big, nearly euphoric sigh, trying to breathe out all of your nerves and insecurities. "What if I don't know the word?"

He holds the paper up to you and you take it, once again not moving the hand where you are connected. "Just sound it out. You've gotten so much better, I can tell-" He's gotten excited now, eyes bright and thinking of all the things you can teach each other. "The difference between your first letter and now is incredible!" He grins, all teeth and gums, and you roll your eyes, embarrassed but also not refuting the fact that, yeah, you guess you really have improved.

As your eyes travel down the paper, sounding out each word as you go, the embarrassment only grows. "This is... for me?" You ask softly. He gives an assuring nod. Your brain is caught up now, both in processing language and thinking of what to do next.

Haechan is aware that he needs to check the time, he needs to know how much longer he has before someone realizes he has disappeared, but anything to disturb the moment would make it pass that much faster. Regretfully, you begin to pull away and he quickly takes his hand back, a bit more self-conscious than before.

You twist around, removing a small pen from your backpack. Directly next to his star makings, you add the crude sun drawing, the same as what he frequently drew for you, on your own favorites.

Scanning the sheet again, you fold it again before he can peek and delicately return it to Haechan's hand. "I'll make you one later, if that's ok." He has to consciously hold himself back from cooing at the promise of a pet name from you, and instead nods energetically. You beat down your own wide grin, biting on your lower lip lightly. "Is there anything easier? To talk?" You replace the pen with your phone from your front pocket, unlocking it and holding up an empty contact page, still slightly worried that you were being too forward.

Haechan sucks in air through his teeth, noticing the time at the top of your phone. "We're not supposed to-" He catches himself, shaking his head, "obviously, I guess you know that." Anxiously, he taps his knuckles against the palm of his opposite hand. "Here," he offers a hand out to take your phone, "let me see."

As he fiddles around, you notice a slight hesitation- he's internally gushing about your phone background, a photo of sunflowers, and your brain tries to imagine what the most embarrassing, weird thing he would be able to find within your cell phone. "Uhhhhh..." He tries to talk out all of his nerves but even then, he's not sure what to say. "Do you play games at all?"

Your brain stutters- what does that have to do with anything? "Like, online? My Korean isn't exactly-" You begin, trying to find the words, "I mean, sometimes the controls are confusing, but, yeah." You nod your head slowly, recalling some titles on the spot. "Yeah," you repeat, listing off a few of the more popular games that you own, though most of the copies are in your native language.

He doesn't respond, but a satisfied grin spreads across his cheeks. He taps out some letters quickly, then holds the phone to return to you. You can't read it well, but he's written the name of a game along with what appears to be a username. "It has a chat function," Haechan explains, as he notices your confusion. Now, his grin has faded into something a bit more sheepish. "That's the best I can think of." When his eyes turn to look back at you, so starstruck and focused on the name he's typed, he notices a shape curving around the corner behind you.

Taeyong, his hair spiked up with thin beads of sweat lining his temples, waves an arm from a few feet away when he spots Haechan. His expression reads as a mixture of satisfaction, upon noticing you together, and a suppressed anxiety. As you glance back up, you turn to look as well, and your knees buckle in surprise. Haechan quickly holds an arm out, but you steady yourself and he laughs again. All you can do is sputter, but you quickly gather yourself and give a polite nod to Taeyong when you lock eyes.

"No, no way-" Your voice teeters into a whine, working to smooth out your jeans in an attempt to look more presentable. "This really wasn't how I expected today to go." Before you can return it to the pocket of your jeans, Haechan quickly takes your phone once more as you glance between the two of them.

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" He teases, striding a few steps forward to stand in-between Taeyong and you. With some hesitation, you open your mouth to assure him that he's wrong, before noticing Haechan fiddling with the screen again.

After a buffering moment, he opens the camera application and lifts his arm- behind him, Taeyong instinctively throws up two peace signs and an open-mouthed, excited expression. You can't imagine that it's anything but a trained, Pavlovian response to cameras. Haechan's thumb taps the screen rapidly before placing the device in your palm.

"Well, what everyone says is really true, photos don't do justice." You mumble, scrolling through to admire a few of the numerous pictures. The angle was a bit weird, but you knew you would cherish all eighteen selfies regardless.

"Unfortunately, I would have to agree with that." Haechan downright pouts at this, eyes darting back to his elder, and your arm swings up to grip your chest in faux-pain.

You smile, a bit thankful that he's kept the mood light. Holding up the screen, you show Haechan where you've zoomed in to Taeyong in the background. "You better watch out before you become second place," you joke, and he reaches out to grab your hand again. Both of you secretly know that will never happen.

Thumb gently tracing along your cuticles and knuckles and faintly outlined veins, Haechan tries to memorize every mole and minuscule scar while he has this chance. With a sigh, he glances back at Taeyong with a slightly more of a solemn expression. Taeyong shrugs, quickly curving back around to corner for you to say your goodbyes.

Reluctantly, Haechan takes small steps backward, not breaking eye contact, until both your arms are outstretched. There are so many things that you didn't have time for, so many things you wanted to tell him and ask him but most of all you wanted to thank him. He felt the same way, so inherently thankful and blessed that you came into his life, but the creeping inevitability of his departure soured any potential words.

Instead, he turned his head quickly to confirm Taeyong was out of view, and pulled down on his arm to cause you to stumble into his embrace. It's awkward, but so warm and so comfortable and so perfect, as if this is where you're meant to be. From within your chest, awkward laughter bubbles out into little squeaks, held in by your tightly-sealed lips and he finally can't hold himself back anymore as you peer up with bright eyes.

So he gives in, and places a confident but chaste kiss against the corner of your lips. You don't pull back, but simply angle upwards to look at him more directly and he does it again- properly this time, until all the breath in your collective lungs has melted into the moment and into each other. It's so simple but so incredibly overwhelming and you find yourself having to pull back as you bounce ever so slightly on your heels.

Then you can't help but lean in again, holding out for longer and uncurling your hand from his to reach it up into his hair, uncaring of the prior styling. Haechan, feeling your fingers pull lightly and smooth out to memorize the curve of his skull, thought that he never wanted a stylist to change the way your hands made it stick up. He allows an arm to press in-between your shoulder blades, fingers twitching slightly against the material of your shirt from knowing he can't do more, and slowly curls the other to ghost a grip on your waist. At one point, he finds the outline of your bra and has to pull back to catch his breath.

You both revel with stifled laughter, the brief afterglow of nerves and excitement, before you open your mouth faster than your brain has fully processed. "Is this what you're wearing to film?" He nods, not fully understanding your intent but mind traveling a mile a minute at potential implications. The edges of your lips curl up and you slowly ask to try something.

Whether it's the raging hormones or extended period of pining, Haechan thinks in this moment that he would let you do anything you wanted to him, idol life be damned. Your hands go from his hair to the back of his neck and edge over where his shirt meets his shoulders; he can feel the slight tremor of fear or eagerness or both spreading through your fingers. Very slowly, you adjust the neckline of his shirt and, briefly glancing up for permission, press your lips against a spot surrounding his collarbone.

Without a care in the world, Haechan lets out a delighted exhale, emboldening you to scrape teeth and tongue to work against his skin. Each open kiss is followed by a huff of his breath tickling your ears, and the soft sound makes you more and more aggressive, hungry, and rushed. This was anything beyond what he could have possibly asked for, being able to experience the confidence and the possessiveness from you that part of him secretly desired and could now cherish.

He always loved being NCT's Haechan but even more so than that, he wanted to be able to show you Lee Donghyuck. With this, he could imagine those dreams of lazy days in the sun, with your bodies smoothly intertwined, when you and Haechan were the only people in the entire world.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally pull away, lips flushed and slick, inhaling deeply to collect yourself enough to speak. "Something for you to keep, at least for a bit." Haechan meets your eyes as you trace your finger lightly on the reddened area before pressing deeply into the center spot; his entire body twitches and you stifle a proud grin.

Satisfied and satiated, for now, he leans down to press another brief kiss to your wetted lips and drops both arms to his side as he backs away. Neither of you speak now, and he has to leave quickly enough so he won't change his mind - not before turning around twice to see you before he rounds the corner.

And then he's gone, with your hand tapping your phone to re-read the username he gave you and scan all eighteen pictures.

And then you're gone, his feet stamping hurriedly, but his fingers come up to trail your mark, just beneath his shirt. When he returns to the shooting location, Yuta asks him why his face is so red (Mark manages to not spill the beans for a full three days), and he blames it on the humid weather. 

The next morning comes yet he feels like most of the prior day was a dream, until he's washing up and he lets his hand remember the place your lips had been. For awhile, throughout the rest of the afternoon of filming, his skin felt warm with vibrations. What had before been a tinted spot, from a distance nothing more than a scratched bug bite, now began to bloom into a beautiful purpled crescent. Somehow, contrary perhaps to his better judgment, there wasn't an ounce of fear surrounding it- fear of managers or bosses, fear of other members, fear of fans or make-up artists or god forbid even his own mother.

It was a gift, he thought to himself, smiling, just like everything else you had ever done for him. It would fade, but for now, it was another secret between you two. Something about the interaction, however brief, cemented the fact that the two of you coexisted, living in this same world and oftentimes even breathing this same air; though, on the other hand, he did partially regret not getting a picture of you to save as well.

Regardless, you had been there and you had been just as nervous and honest and real as anything he could have ever hoped for- ever dreamt of. At that moment, he was not a bright star to circle around, he was Lee Donghyuck and that meant just as much.

Most of that day falls by in a haze: watching videos on his phone and arguing with Doyoung about irrelevant things and reviewing the poems Mark had highlighted for him. Several times, as he's sitting on the couch after some of the older members return from a shopping trip, his mind wanders to consider whether he should really make a song or not. He wonders if you'll listen- no, he assumes you will, but will you know what it is? Will you know it's for you?

A definitive answer to any of those curiosities never comes, and he quickly gets distracted by the bustle of the dorm. When he finally dismisses himself from whatever group shenanigans Johnny had started that evening in the living room, he finally allows himself to cave.

Curling up in the desk chair, he's overwhelmed by the urge to immediately check for friend requests once the computer has booted up. Both surprisingly and unsurprisingly, there is a notification from a few hours ago. His heart absolutely flutters and he can't breathe when he clicks accept and opens up a chat window. Suddenly, the world is no longer condensed, no longer restrictive with social media check-ins and ever-present cameras and paranoid papers secretly taped to the underside of his desk. Donghyuck was free.

**0HCSookie0:** I hope you didn't miss much at class yesterday

 **0HCSookie0:** Or at least that it was worth it!

 **0HCSookie0:** Also I never got a chance to give you a formal signature :(

 **0HCSookie0:** Maybe it's just a good excuse to meet again

 **0HCSookie0:** Hmm..... unless I wasn't cool enough....

 **0HCSookie0:** Anyway

 **0HCSookie0:** This might not be the best place to do it

 **0HCSookie0:** I like you ~*~*~*~

It isn't until he's tapped out several messages all at once that he notices his hands shaking. Everything is tense- he's sweaty and his breath is labored and he forgot to lock the door and, if Donghyuck didn't know better, he would assume he was dying. This was absolutely not at all the right way to say that, but his lack of experience and perchance for sarcastic overt affection lent no help to the situation.

After his fifth message is sent, your little bubble notified him that you came online. Uncertainty slowly crept in, his hands idly busying themselves now with the drawstring of his sweatpants, tying and untying knots, when the small writing in the chatbox indicated you had started to reply.

He sucked in a deep breath, and tried to search again for the words. He had to do this properly- and quickly, because there was really nothing else normal about this situation. In the end: simple is best.

**0HCSookie0:** Ok ok wait hold on that was dumb

 **0HCSookie0:** Maybe letters _are_ easier

 **0HCSookie0:** [y/n]! I think you're really neat

 **0HCSookie0:** I hope to get you to know you better

 **0HCSookie0:** Sincerely yours

 **0HCSookie0:** Mr Lee Donghyuck

In a similar manner, you hold your breath until your fingers slowly tap out a reply, feeling so incredible and so unreal. In contrast to his exaggerated, casual tone, you deliberately proofread each word and choose a formal tone, despite the age difference.

_ > It was nice to meet you _

_ > I was very surprised! It still doesn't feel real... _

_ > I thought you were cool enough _

_ > You shouldn't worry about things like that _

_ > I'm still not sure if there is a better way to do it but... _

_ > Would you like me to continue writing? _

_ > Also, did you enjoy your 'gift'? heheh _

And, of course, though he's also unsure of some solution for the situation, every fiber of his being cannot contain his answer for both of your questions.

Yes. It will always be yes.

💞💞💞💞💞💞

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!!  
> writing this literally made haechan sneak up into that top 7 nct bias list??? unfair.  
> as a fan of k-pop, I'm always trying to be hyper-aware of how a lot of it is fabricated and idols have personas that only have bits and pieces of their real personality. it must be so stressful, but it also makes me glad when they seem comfortable enough for some of that honest behavior to seep through...
> 
> check me out at bnanaz on tumblr, which I'll be more active on soon ✨


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